The Tale of Masamune Nakatsukasa
by TheAUWalker
Summary: He was the pale and quiet dark-haired boy who liked to write haikus and speak with old words. A childhood in a lonely garden, the slender form of a beautiful girl, a bloody sword, and a crushed camellia flower. The story of Masamune Nakatsukasa.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I've been so excited to start this :D Masamune has always been one of my favorite Soul Eater characters. I feel like he's really interesting and doesn't have enough background. This is one of those stories where the author mostly makes the character's past up, leading to their present day appearances.**

**Warning: this story will contain mentions of abuse, self-harm, killing, and gore. It'll all be kept T, I'm just warning you.**

**I don't own Soul Eater.**

**Welcome to the story of Masamune Nakatsukasa.**

**-o-o- **

Peach-colored petals drifted down from the brown trees, dusting the ground in a quiet beauty.

In a few minutes, he knew, someone would be along with a broom to sweep it all away.

Masamune wished that they would let the petals stay.

He stood barefoot on the wood porch, a hand against a post, watching the petals and the old ladies with their tea in the corner of the garden.

Another muffled scream reached his ears from inside the house, and Masamune's hand clenched on the post.

They had said they were going to name her Tsubaki.

The scentless camellia flower.

Masamune Nakatsukasa was nine on the day of his sister Tsubaki's birth, and already had a lot of thoughts swirling around in his head that shouldn't be.

-o-o-o

They would say he was a good(if not a bit odd) child, and smile and pour you another cup of tea.

But if you _really_ wanted to hear the stories about the Nakatsukasa boy, you had to walk on your toes and lurk behind closed doors, an ear pressed to the wood.

In the eyes of his family, the dark-haired child was a disappointment from the start.

He did not inherit the clan's gift of transforming into multiple weapon forms. They had waited for _years_ and thought it was going to be him.

Suddenly, it was his entire fault.

Masamune was a sword, just a sword, and a pale dark-haired boy who didn't talk much and liked to spend time in the garden.

He didn't really have anyone to play with when he was little. There was the odd aunt whose mind was ailing that would pay him mind, but eventually, they all went away.

Maybe it was because of his eyes.

Masamune had a dream once where his eyes turned black and his pupils were red.

Sometimes it happened when he was very angry, and even though it was only for a second, it drove people away.

He also liked to speak in old words and haikus.

By the time he was nine, Masamune had spent his whole life without more than a few glances of attention. He had fended for himself; cooked and cleaned for himself, done all the work you could think of for his family.

They didn't care, and little Masamune didn't understand how to remedy something that wasn't his fault.

So he closed his mouth, and did not talk again.

On his ninth birthday, he spent the night alone, in the dark garden with a single candle stuck in a piece of bread.

He sang quietly to himself, and pretended to be happy, but Masamune was broken.

Not that long after, since the gates to their property were always locked, he would explore. Up the trees, under the house, in the attic.

He found poems in the attic and would spend hours sitting against an old trunk, candle in hand, his lips moving silently over the old words.

No one came to get him.

No one cared where he was, and Masamune was like a shadow, darting in and out of view.

He had bags under his eyes and a sickly complexion. His eyes were full of sadness, and his mouth was closed tightly.

Masamune taught himself to read.

He taught himself to climb, cook and clean, learning from his mistakes.

Masamune was hit.

He was hit, slapped and kicked, and soon he just learned to stay out of sight completely. He learned to bandage his own wounds and not to make noise.

He stared at the big wood gates, wondering why he didn't just leave.

Some childish naivety kept him at his home.

Some foolish hope that someone cared.

Masamune knew even if he accepted the truth, he wouldn't make it on his own.

His life, from his child's perspective, was not hell.

He just cried because he didn't understand what he did wrong and why they kept telling him he was worthless and hitting him.

Someday Masamune knew he was going to run away.

He would leave and no one would care and he would start over, do his own things.

Masamune smiled at the thought of it, all alone in the cold, dark garden with the petals falling around his face.

He sat against the dusty trunk in the attic, growing taller and stronger and hungrier and sadder.

Masamune would run, one day.

Then came Tsubaki.

**-o-o-o**

**Please review! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: short chapter, but I'm hoping you'll forgive me XD **

**Happy Halloween!**

**I don't own Soul Eater.**

**Please review.**

**-o-o-o**

The day Tsubaki Nakatsukasa entered the world was a happy day. Family members flocked(only after, Masamune noted, they figured out she had the gift) to see the rosy-faced baby.

He lurked, like he always did, this time hiding behind a beam as they all cooed over his sister.

Masamune wondered if she would've been treated like him if she didn't have the gift.

Probably worse.

Despite his hate for his parents and life Masamune was happy to have a sister. Maybe they would let him play with her.

Tsubaki was not the only thing born on that day.

A second small flame had ignited in Masamume's chest.

The first one was for his parents and his life.

Masamume did not hate Tsubaki. He just craved so desperately the attention and love she got at every waking moment.

They let her see him.

Before Masamume was sneakily dragged out of the room by a stern-faced aunt for looking too long, he dropped a camellia flower on her blankets.

It floated past the edge of the bed and drifted to the floor.

The flower would lay there for two days with Tsubaki gurgling happily at it before it was swept up.

-o-o-o

They were like yin and yang.

He was darkness, and she was bright. For the sake of his sister and his own sanity, Masamune suppressed his feelings of jealousy and anger.

They grew up from Tsubaki's point of view as loved and happy children.

She never knew how her brother had been treated.

It was foreign to Masamune. He was treated like he was worth something. He got a huge dinner and clothes when Tsubaki received them.

Then Masamune realized that he shouldn't have been so idiotic.

When Tsubaki was gone, they took it all away and treated him like a piece of shit.

By the time he was thirteen, the speech of his own worthlessness had been drilled into his head too many times to count.

Masamune would never be the same. After all, it is said that your childhood shapes you for the future.

He couldn't forget anyway.

-o-o-o

Masamune knew a lot of things, and kept on learning. If he wanted to survive on his own, if he wanted to start over, he would have to know.

Soon every minute was filled with overwhelming thought. Masamune thought and thought.

He had to plan for a week just how to get off his family's land without being pursued.

Masamune had never run away before, but he knew what the consequences would be if he was caught,

He would not get caught.

He planned to run when he was seventeen.

Four more years.

Four more long years in hell with barely anchored sanity.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: You may be wondering why Masamune has a sword if he's a weapon. My opinion is that when he's younger, he hasn't mastered using his weapon form by himself yet because he hasn't practiced much...**

**I don't own Soul Eater.**

**-o-o-o**

It was a cold night with the blossoms on the old tree drifting down to the ground, a gentle breeze blowing through the garden.

There was the sound of crunching footsteps through the gravel, the sound of panting.

The sound of of a delirious man who could taste freedom on the tip of his tounge.

Masamune had not taken much. But he had stolen for the first time, and the sensation was still lingering on the tips of his fingers. He had never stolen, not even when he was the hungriest or the coldest, because his needs had never seemed as significant as they had now.

He had taken all the money he could find(they had hidden it well, but in some places they'd been a little too careless) food, clothes, a sword that was supposed to be _his_ but never touched his hands, and a few other things in a small pack on his back.

Finally, he was leaving.

Masamune ran his tongue over dry lips, vaulting out of the attic window and landing with barely a sound on the ground below. There was a rush of air past his ears that he'd heard before, but it didn't seem as loud.

Every step he took sounded like a gunshot.

But no one came(he doubted they'd care anyway) so Masamune scaled the thick garden wall and sat crouched on the top, staring with hungry eyes at the world at his mercy below him.

Seventeen years in hell, and he was finally climbing his way up and out of the pit.

Before Masamune dropped, and against his better wishes, he turned back for the last time to face the silent house.

He had nothing against the place, but it was a different story for the people who lived inside it.

He hated his family.

Except for one soul that did not yet know the evils of the world, that was still innocent, the one soul that had not treated him like shit. His sister, Tsubaki, but nothing could make him stay behind.

He saw her in the window when he turned back, framed by blackness, and watching him go with sadness on her face.

She raised a few fingers in a little goodbye wave, because Tsubaki knew that her brother did not plan on coming back. Even she at her young age could tell by the way he looked at the house was not one of longing. It was pure disgust.

Masamune did not return the wave.

He dropped over the side of the wall, the two pieces of black hair that framed his gaunt cheeks flying around his face.

Seventeen years in hell.

He did not know what he would do first, but he sure as hell wanted some real food.

-o-o-o

When Masamune Nakatsukasa walked down the street,every eye that casually fell on him made him sweat nervously. He was paranoid that they would come and try and take him back.

His stomach rumbled, and his eyes fell upon a not-too-shabby tavern.

But he was not a fool.

He walked on for several miles, wanting to get as far away as he could, even though he knew they would not start looking for him for a while.

Even if they noticied he was gone tonight, they would not send out a search party.

Masamune walked until he could walk no longer. He was exhausted, starving, and thirsty.

He was near collapse, heaving himself up on a bar stool and wearily watching the bartender slow in cleaning his glass.

"Something I can get you, sir?"

"Anything." Masamune panted, trying to control his breathing.

The bartender came back five minutes later with a bowl of soup and a glass of water. As soon as they had been set down Masamune drained half the bowl of soup and most of the water.

"Jesus, slow down, kid!"

But he would not slow down, he had not eaten or drunk in two days.

"I have money." he rasped. "Just get me more."

The bartender eyed him watchfully on his third bowl of soup.

"You run away, kid?"

"You could say that."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen." Masamune replied, pushing the empty glass towards the man for another refill.

"You look like shit." the other man said bluntly, a smile tugging up a corner of his mouth. "Had your fill yet?"

Masamune's stomach was full(a little too full, maybe) and he made to pull out his money, but the bartender held up a hand.

"Don't bother, kid."

Awkwardly, Masamune put the money back in his bag.

"Do you know a place I can stay for the night?"

"Yeah, just down the street. Nice, and cheap, too."

"Thank you. For everything, I mean."

The bartender smiled at him.

"No problem, kid. I ran away once and know exactly what it's like. Least I can do."

Masamune slid off the stool, heading towards the back, searching for a restroom. On the way, he caught sight of his face in the mirror.

His complexion was pale, almost sickly. His face was gaunt, and the raven-haired man traced his prominent cheekbones and the dark skin under his eyes.

The bartender was right, he did look like shit.

-o-o-o

On the way back Masamune noticed there were three more men at the bar, one of then bent low, staring at something on the ground.

He realized that it was his bag.

Without completely knowing why, Masamune's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

He cleared his throat angrily, and the man on the ground stood, all of them staring at him.

"Can I help you?"

They didn't answer, just went back to nursing their drinks. Masamune's eyes shifted to the bartender, who was staring at him, having ceased cleaning his glass.

"Run." he mouthed.

Masamune didn't know how the bartender knew, but he had a hunch that the man had seen the glittering of metal under the coats of the newcomers.

Right as Masamune shot off his stool, one of the men pulled his sword from its sheath and stabbed at him, the rest pulling out guns.

He hadn't got far because when you were blind with panic and despair you didn't see well.

One of the men pressed a gun to his head, the cold metal burning against warm flesh.

"Easy, now. A little jumpy, aren't we?"

"I believe I've a reason to be jumpy, seeing what you're carrying." Masamune snarled. "What the hell do you want with me?"

He already knew, though. Masamune had made a mistake. He thought that they wouldn't come after him for a few days, but they came after him a few minutes later instead.

He could see it now.

A son of the Nakatsukasa clan was too priceless to lose.

Another man pressed his blade to Masamune's throat, chuckling. "What do we want with you? We want the pretty reward they're giving for your ass back."

But Masamune was not going to come quietly. He had learned quite a bit and as scared as he was, he wasn't going back.

He had never killed someone before, but _he was not going back._

Masamune's elbow slammed into the closest man's jaw, knocking the gun off his head. With a kick he was flying backwards into the bar, and Masamune whirled, landing a punch on the other man's nose. He did not go down as easily, and it was a close shave.

The third man came at him slowly, and he was the one who Masamune killed first.

With a scream, his inherited blade plunged into the man's chest. He fell and Masamune pulled it out with a sickening noise, blood dripping off the end of the blade.

Then he could not stop, slicing another man's throat and stabbing the last one in the back.

When they were done his sword dropped to the ground with a clang and Masamune bent over, throwing up his four bowls of soup and five glasses of water, squeezing his eyes shut tightly against the smell of blood and the thought of what he had just done.

He had _killed_.

Suddenly Masamume looked up at the bartender, who was staring at him with pure horror.

"Get..." his voice was shaky. "Get out."

Masamune grabbed his bag and stumbled off in an unsteady run through the cold night, wondering what the hell he had become.

-o-o-o

**A/N: Please review! **


	4. Chapter 4

In a sad sort of way, it almost made Masamune want to laugh.

His family was rich, very, and now he was looking like a common beggar. He had slipped into the hotel, looking around with a wary eye.

A white, plush carpet and soft cream walls, large red couches and a big brown piano in the corner. The people milling around were all dressed like lords and ladies and Masamune tried not to wince at how he was leaving a trail of blood the color of the couch behind him.

Except for the receptionist, suprisingly no one paid him much mind.

"Can I help you, sir?"

The receptionist, dressed in a fine suit, stared at him over the soft music of a piano drifting through the room.

It was obviously not a cheap hotel, and Masamune knew he must have walked in to the wrong one.

"Um." he swallowed. "Is there-"

"Somewhere where you can drip filth on the floor? Yeah. Down the street."

"Thanks." Masamune managed, and turned quickly on his heel to leave, his sword clinking against his thigh.

He knew he was at the right place when as soon as the rickety doors were pushed open, everyone turned to stare.

The receptionist, a young woman this time, cracked her gum and eyed him up and down as he approached.

The ends of his coat dripped blood, and the young Nakatsukasa was aware he was soaked in it.

"Ya kill someone or something?"

Masamune flinched and then attempted to cover it up by cracking a shaky smile.

"Damn, you are the most awkward thing I've ever met. Can't you take a joke?"

She popped a bubble, and Masamune glanced around, uncomfortably aware that everyone was still staring at him.

Just as the swordsman opened his mouth to speak, the woman beat him to it.

"You wanna rent a room or what?'

"Please."

She tossed him the keys, and he caught the glint of a nametag that had been hidden in shadow.

Aley.

He paid, watching her toss her long black hair, and then tromped up the creaky stairs, not daring to meet any of the other guests' gazes.

Right as he walked in to his room, he heard a burst of laughter from downstairs.

Masamune shut the door and slid down against it, forgetting that he was smearing blood all over the wood.

-o-o-o

He had killed, he really could not go back now.

But what was he to do?

As far as he knew, there were no other Nakatsukasa family members outside of the gated hell he'd been living in.

Masamune glanced at his sword.

It was rightfully his, and as much as he hated his family, it would feel wrong to sell it.

But maybe he could go somewhere with it.

Masamune did not know how long he lay there, thinking, sitting against the door, not making a sound. Eventually night fell and his stomach rumbled, but he did not make a move to get up because he did not really notice.

-oo-o

In the morning, when Masamune jolted awake with a start and wrenched open his door, there was a small tray on the floor.

He nearly knocked it down the stairs in his haste to ask for the shower.

On the small tray was a pitcher of milk and some toast.

Masamune scarfed it down, realizing he had forgotten to eat last night. At least, though, he had figured out what he was to do.

He walked down to Aley's desk, trying not to think of all the dried blood and mud caked on his skin.

"Thank you for the breakfast."

"I charge for that, you know."

Masamune smiled.

She gave him the shower key and a towel, and the dark-haired youth went outside and to the back to use the shower.

It was a wonderful relief to get all the blood and dirt off, though he had to make sure it all swirled down the drain before turning the water off. He rubbed his hair try and fastened the towel around his waist, stepping out of the shower room with a cloud of steam.

His toes pressed in to the soft dirt and grass as he walked back to the hotel.

Aley was not at her desk when he got back in and the lobby was deserted, so Masamune walked up to his room and dressed in silence.

It was oddly quiet throughout the hotel.

There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that was probably what made Masamune unsheath his sword and hold it close as he pushed the door open.

It creaked.

The stairs creaked, everything was so _loud_ and he winced at every small noise that was magnified.

Masamune was sure he looked like a idiot, tiptoeing down the stairs in the middle of the afternoon with a katana held out in front of him.

"Aley?"

His katana glinted in the light as he walked, and for the first time Masamune noticed something on the leather grip of the sword.

His eyes focused on the marking.

_Tenebras_.

Latin. Masamune learned a small bit of Latin through a crack in the door, but he did not know what the word meant.

His mind was so absorbed on the marking that he did not notice the click of a gun cocking at the back of his head.

-o-o-o.

"I found 'im."

Masamune's hands were tied tightly behind his back, the sword cast over his captor's shoulder.

Aley was on her knees, blood leaking out of her nose, surronded.

"Where is he?"

"Boss." the man repeated. "I found 'im."

The lead man, tall with striking features, smiled toothily.

He looked like a shark.

"Excellent."

"What should I do with 'im?"

"Wait."

The leader turned back to Aley, who's gaze was fixated on the floorboards.

Masamune glanced upwards, noticing the large metal platform that Aley and most of her captors were on. The lever sat off to the right, and from the condition of it, looked to be jammed.

"Should I cut 'er loose?"

"No." the lead man said, grinning again. "No, I think we'll take her with us."

There was a sick feeling starting to form in Masamune's gut. He was seventeen, for Christ's sake, and death followed him wherever he went.

Aley looked up, straight at him, pain and sadness in her eyes. Despite knowing the pale stranger for less than a full day, she knew that if she was going down, she might as well take as many of them to hell with her as she could.

The raven-haired girl's head slammed into one of her captor's knees, causing him to stumble and reach for the nearest object to get support.

He grabbed the lever, and yanked.

There was a giant screech and a whoosh of air, and then the platform dropped right in front of Masamune's toes. The mens' screams echoed through the tunnel as they plummeted down to their deaths, long hair sticking straight up.

It was terrifying.

The noise and the force of the air made Masamune stumble, and he had to fall backwards to avoid pitching forwards into the pit.

He did not know how long he sat there, eyes wide, motionless, fixated on the last image of men going to their deaths.

-o-o-o


End file.
